Tempered in Fire
by FancifulRivers
Summary: Hermione wants to prove herself, no matter where she's Sorted. But she wasn't really expecting this. (This story is extremely AU.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: None of this belongs to me, because unfortunately, I did not have the forethought to come up with the Harry Potter series. Also, this will be extremely AU. I promise to put the characters back where they belong when I'm done. (Also, this is a sort of prologue.)**

Hermione Granger was a very practical sort of girl.

Her parents had always said so, and her teachers had always agreed. A bookworm, a bit of a know-it-all, but above all, practical.

She'd learnt everything she possibly could about Hogwarts. It was a brand new world that opened to her inquisitive brain. Magical theories bubbled in her thoughts, and she found herself whispering scraps of spells under her breath, guiltily hiding the sparks at her fingertips and hoping nobody would notice the pencil floating above her fingers.

It was in books she found her heart's desires laid bare, the laws of magical theory and the frontiers that had yet to be blazed. The hypotheses went over her head as she poured through third-year theoretical texts, but she couldn't deny the thrill of knowledge. Only a scant summer lay between her and the halls of Hogwarts, and she was determined to learn as much as she possibly could.

It was in books as well she learnt what some witches and wizards thought of Muggleborns like her. "Mudbloods" they were called, according to a faint scribble in the margin, in the middle of a splotch of what looked like tears. Hermione didn't understand at first, but then she could. It was the same in the Muggle world, really. If you were different in the ways that the world thought counted-you were anathema.

"I'll show them all," she vowed to herself. Fierce words for a frizzy-haired girl with buck teeth and rumpled, too-big clothing, but she meant them.

She'd skimmed over the Sorting system at Hogwarts at first, more intent on learning what magic actually was than what her new school would be like. But as September first drew nearer, Hermione poured over that, too.

She wouldn't be happy in Slytherin, she decided straight off. Not that she wasn't ambitious or clever, but it looked like a House made for stuck-up purebloods. They would have a field day tormenting her. She had no desire to repeat her primary school days.

Gryffindor drew her, but at the same time, repelled her. She wanted to believe that she was brave, but she wasn't foolhardy. Godric seemed to favour both.

Ravenclaw sounded just her speed, really. Learning for the sake of learning. The pursuit of knowledge above all. It was fascinating, and Hermione spent more time on that chapter than any other.

To Hufflepuff, she paid scant attention. It didn't sound _bad_. She just wasn't very interested in it, really. It sounded pleasant, but where was the challenge? Hermione wanted to be the best. How could Hufflepuff House get her there?


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Sorting is about to get very interesting, I'm afraid (and show just how AU this story is, I think!) I hope you enjoy!**

The Sorting Hat didn't look like the stuff of legends. Battered and frayed, with a rip in the brim where its mouth purported to be. Hermione eyed it with faint distaste. None of her books had explained how precisely students were Sorted, but she couldn't see how trying on a _hat_ could do it. Surely it was a joke, some sort of prank played on the "silly firsties haha we got you good, didn't we?"

Until the stern-faced Professor McGonagall called up "Abbott, Hannah" and the Hat was unceremoniously plopped on her head. The Hat's brim opened wide and "HUFFLEPUFF" was projected to the rest of the Great Hall. The pink-faced girl stumbled off to her new table while the older students politely clapped.

Hermione's jaw hung open.

"Bones, Susan" went to Hufflepuff, too, while "Brocklehurst, Mandy" ended up a Ravenclaw. "Crabbe, Vincent" and "Goyle, Gregory" went to Slytherin, and Hermione was privately relieved, as they both looked thoroughly unpleasant.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin" also went to the House of Badgers and all too soon, it was Hermione's turn. She walked forward on wooden legs, willing her knees to stop knocking together, as Professor McGonagall (who looked much kinder up close) settled the Sorting Hat on her bushy hair.

"_Interesting, very interesting,_" a voice said in her ear, or was it in her head? It was only with strictest willpower that Hermione managed not to jump. "_Sorry,_" the Hat, for it must be the Hat, murmured in apology. "_It's just me, you know. Now where to put you? You're ambitious and clever, you could do well in Slytherin-_"

"Not Slytherin, please," Hermione mumbled as politely as she dared.

"_No? Ah well, a Muggleborn in Slytherin House these days-could be risky for you-though many have taken up that risk. Gryffindor is out as well, I fear-you are quite brave, child, but bravery must be tempered with caution. Ravenclaw?_"

"I'd like that," Hermione admitted, but the Hat was already going on.

"_No, you would end up in your books all day and never come out, Miss Granger. No, I think the House for you, the one that will suit you best (though you may not thank me for it), better be..._

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat shouted, and her face burned with humiliation as she slid off the stool and handed the bedraggled Hat back to the Professor. Damn right she wouldn't thank the Sorting Hat. How could she ever accomplish her goals _here_? She'd heard what others thought of Hufflepuff. "Lot o' duffers" was the kindest epithet directed at them. "The dregs who couldn't be Sorted anywhere else." Was that really what awaited her in the magical world?

But as the other first years budged up and made a place for her, Hermione took a deep breath and looked around. All right, so she wasn't where she'd wanted to be. But perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as all that. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott were both smiling in an encouraging sort of way, and everyone else looked at least relatively kind.

"Longbottom, Neville" was Sorted into Hufflepuff as well, and Hermione recognised him as the shy boy who'd lost his toad on the train.

"Where's Trevor?" she discreetly asked him as "Malfoy, Draco" was immediately put into Slytherin, and the Patil twins were put in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively.

"In my pocket," Neville muttered back, lifting his robes a bit to show the bulgy eyes and warty face of his new familiar.

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall called, and the entire Hall went silent. Hermione immediately picked out the Boy Who Lived, who looked extremely embarrassed and uncomfortable with all the attention. The Hat stayed quiet for nearly five minutes, before finally shouting out "RAVENCLAW."

The blue-and-bronze table went wild, while everyone else looked more than a bit disappointed. Hermione herself felt fierce jealousy burning in the pit of her stomach for a moment (_Harry Potter_ ended up in Ravenclaw, while she ended up _here_?), before forcing it away. He couldn't help his Sorting either.

It was chance that Hermione caught the expression on the sallow-skinned, hook-nosed professor up at the head table. He looked profoundly shaken, as if something in his universe had just gone so utterly topsy-turvy, he couldn't see a way of righting it. Then it passed, and he directed a sneer down at the messy-haired first year who'd just taken his rightful place among his year mates at the Ravenclaw table.

The Sorting continued. "Thomas, Dean" into Gryffindor and "Turpin, Lisa" into Ravenclaw. Finally, the red-headed, freckle-bespattered boy with a smudge on his nose that Hermione had met on the train went up. "Weasley, Ronald." He'd made a face at his full name, not that Hermione could blame him. He was pale as milk under the freckles.

"SLYTHERIN" the Hat shouted just as Ron wrenched it off his head and yelled "No" at the same time.

"The thing's gotta be jinxed," he accused, letting it fall to the floor and pointing one accusing finger. The Hall had gone just as silent as it had when Harry was called up.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but the Hat's decisions are final," Professor McGonagall said calmly, her nostrils flaring. "I know this is a shock for you, but please sit down with your new House."

"Traitor," she heard a Gryffindor boy with similar red hair and colouring say, pitched just loud enough for the rest of the students to hear. He was immediately told off by someone else, but Hermione winced all the same. Ron looked even sicker as he sat down at the very end of the Slytherin table.

Finally, the Sorting finished with "Zabini, Blaise" also Sorted into Slytherin, and the Headmaster got up for a rather bizarre speech.

The plates before her filled up with food, but by this point, Hermione felt like collapsing into her plate. It was a relief when the feast ended, and the new Hufflepuffs were coaxed into a straggling line.

"Come on," one of the prefects, a fifth year named Gabriel Truman, said encouragingly. "It's not far, really."

Drooping with weariness, Hermione found herself led down several corridors and finally ending at a stack of barrels. She blinked in confusion, and noticed she was not the only one. Neville hung onto his toad for dear life beside her.

"Wands out," Gabriel ordered. "Now, you see here? Barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row? Tap it-like such-to the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff." He demonstrated and everyone's mouths slackened in surprise when the lid swung open, revealing a dim, but still cozy-looking passageway.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff House," Gabriel said, and grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I am pleased that people like this story so far. Also to address one person in particular, don't worry! This isn't an evil Ron story at all. (I suppose people might think he is by the number of curses he wants to send the Sorting Hat's way, but...) Enjoy! **

Hufflepuff's Common Room was _brilliant_.

If Hermione had been asked for a comparison, the first image that struck her head was that of hobbit holes. Bilbo Baggins could pop out of one of the round doors in the back at any moment, chattering something about his birthday party...

Of course, no such thing happened. But Hermione drank in all the details that she possibly could just the same. The windows were round and plentiful-and though it was dark outside, the view was anything but. Grass fluttered in an unseen breeze, and flowers bowed before its gentle weight. There were plants hanging everywhere, pots tucked into the corners, and even a few smaller plants settled on end tables. Several sofas and chairs were scattered around the room, and they were all over-stuffed and decorated in yellow and black. A patchwork quilt was settled across the centre sofa.

It might not have been the most _imposing_ common room, but it was certainly the homiest.

"Welcome," a slightly dumpy-looking woman with very curly grey hair in bunches and the warmest brown eyes Hermione had ever seen said, popping up from her seat on a chair. Hermione recognised her from the Head Table. "I'm Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House. This House will be your family while you study at Hogwarts and I hope far into the future as well."

She paused for breath at the same time a loud croak echoed through the room. Professor Sprout laughed gently and dipped down, coming up with a rather familiar toad sitting on the palm of her hand.

"Anyone lose a toad, dears?" she questioned. Neville went crimson and rushed forward, taking cautious hold of Trevor.

"Sorry, Professor," Neville mumbled, but Professor Sprout only smiled at him.

"Not a problem-Longbottom, was it?"

Neville nodded, escaping back to his position by Hermione.

"As I was saying," Pomona continued, although she'd given Neville a very assessing look that Hermione had just barely caught. "While you are here, Hufflepuff will be your family. I am always proud of my Puffs as they make their way through their school career and onward. Others in Hogwarts may underestimate you and your capabilities, but I never will. You wouldn't be at Hogwarts if you were not a capable witch or wizard." (This time, Hermione _knew_ that look was for Neville.)

"Now, I believe you'd all like to go to bed," Professor Sprout chuckled. "Girls to the left, boys to the right. It's all arranged by year, as well. If you get lost, there are signs on the doors, and the upper years would also be more than happy to assist you. Also-and this, of course, goes beyond merely tonight-should you have need of me, all you have to do is tap any wall with your wand three times and say 'Professor Sprout, I need your assistance.' Got all that?"

The first years nodded in unison.

"Off to bed then," the squat woman clucked like they were a lot of chickens and flapped her hands a bit. Neville looked rather apprehensive as they neared the door.

"All right, Neville?" Hermione whispered.

"Y-yeah, f-f-fine," Neville stammered. A look of relief washed over his face when the door to the boys' dorms opened for him, puzzling Hermione greatly. Unless he was still worried he didn't belong? But he'd been Sorted, hadn't he?

"G'night, Hermione," Neville mumbled, and escaped for the night with the other first year boys.

* * *

Harry's thoughts upon viewing Ravenclaw Tower for the first time were not all that dissimilar from Hermione's. The eagle-shaped knocker was going to take some getting used to, he was certain, but he was actually looking forward to answering the riddles if he could. One of the prefects, although he hadn't quite caught his name (Robert something?), had already assured the worn-out first years that the knocker tried to adapt its riddles to the student and that if it still went badly, you could always knock on the door and hope for the best.

The common room was one of the most beautiful rooms he'd ever seen. It was massive and airy, with windows everywhere that overlooked the grounds, hung with blue and bronze silks. The ceiling was high and domed and painted with stars, and by the entrance to the dormitories, there stood a tall white statue of a woman Filius Flitwick had already informed them was Rowena Ravenclaw. She was beautiful but also looked quite imposing.

"How did the Boy Who Lived get in _here_?" one of his fellow first years, Michael Corner, asked softly, while Flitwick was going over the House rules (in a rather squeaky voice).

Harry shrugged lopsidedly.

"The same way everyone else did?" he pointed out. Corner looked surprised at first, then pleased. Harry wasn't entirely sure why. There were very faint overtones of _You're all right, Potter_ in Michael Corner's face, and all of a sudden, Harry very much wanted his bed so he could properly puzzle it out. He had a sneaking suspicion it was-yet again-to do with his supposed fame.

"I'm glad you're in here," Mandy Brocklehurst said shyly behind him, turning pink when he looked up. Harry couldn't help but smile back.

* * *

Ron Weasley was utterly convinced he was the most miserable boy in the entirety of Hogwarts that night, as he trailed dismally behind the rest of the Slytherin first years. His secondhand robes kept hitching up and showing off his trainers, but he couldn't bother to care. _Slytherin?_ Of all Houses the Sorting Hat could have put him in, it chose _Slytherin?_ He felt a fierce envy for the round-faced Longbottom boy and the bossy, bushy-haired Muggleborn girl suddenly. Hufflepuff might be for duffers, but at least it was better than the den of slimy, no-good snakes. Like he was _Dark_ or something.

"Hurry up, Weasley," Marcus Flint grunted, giving him a solid push. It wasn't unfriendly, yet Ron bristled, his face flushing.

"Don't shove me," he spat, but Flint only laughed and shoved him onward again.

The entrance to the Slytherin common room was through a blank stone wall in the dungeons. The password was "serpent."

_Of course,_ Ron thought scathingly. After another glare from Flint, who seemed to have appointed himself Ron's personal jailor, he reluctantly stepped through.

He'd heard from his brothers about Gryffindor. About how warm and cheerful it looked, the grandeur of the red and gold.

Slytherin's common room looked nothing like it. The light had a greenish tinge, and the furnishings were imposing and completely done in green, silver, and black. Altogether, it looked like a place a prat like _Malfoy_ would be completely at home in, and not at all where Ron would.

Not that he had a choice.

He swallowed hard and finally stumbled to a stop just as Professor Snape, the greasy-haired bat of the dungeons himself, billowed past him to address the rest of the first years.

_Blah blah blah,_ Ron thought, trying to stop his hands curling into fists. He didn't belong here. He just _didn't_. Surrounded by pompous pureblooded prats and so much green and silver, he thought he might go off both colours for good. His hand-me-down-robes and freckles didn't belong with the snobby superiourity complex of Malfoy, or the snooty pug-faced splendour of Pansy Parkinson.

His shoulders sagged. Not that it mattered anyway. Fred and George thought he was a traitor. His parents were sure to think so, too. He wouldn't be surprised if he got a Howler in the morning at breakfast. They might even disown him.

"-Check the board for the time you are expected to show up at my office this week," he finally tuned into Snape's lecture. "May I remind you all once again, these meetings are _mandatory_ and should you choose to skip it, you will find yourself not only having said meeting, but serving a week's worth of detentions at the same time." Ron was sure the man's eyes were on him, but he refused to acknowledge them.

There had to be _some_ way that he could get re-Sorted.


End file.
